


Pink Dragonfly

by homo_pink



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Body Dysphoria, F/M, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Objectification, Other, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 02:04:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homo_pink/pseuds/homo_pink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: <i>[Jenny] is a pre-operative male to female transgender woman on hormone therapy. [Jared] really gets off on all the changes happening to her body.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Pink Dragonfly

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't a very structured story, rather just glimpses at their life/lives. Male pronouns, as well as the name, are used in reference to the past for easier reading only.

“Here we are,” Dan said, scribbling into his notepad as he’d done every other Tuesday for the last thirty-two months. 

Jenny was 22 years old the day Dan tore out the page with his name at the top – Dr. Cerny, very official – and handed it over, the little slip of paper to be taken to Walgreens. As though perhaps it was simply a strong cough suppressant, a little allergy remedy, nothing big. But a superhero in disguise.

Just a little relief.

 

-

 

She hears Jared before she sees him, as usual. Banging around through the kitchen as noisily as possible until Jenny just gives up and goes out there to put the groceries away herself, also as usual. Because as much as Jared loves running errands, the aftermath is always hers to deal with. 

“Did you get the bag of rice?” she yells, tugging up a pair of grey yoga pants. And there is definite tugging action going on. Her hips these days, sweet jesus.

“Two of ‘em,” he yells back, muffled up like his head’s in the refrigerator. Probably putting bottles of salad dressing in the produce drawers. She’d better get out there.

“And the evaporated milk?”

“Yup. And your vitamins and lotion stuff and fifteen dollar bag of cardboard cutouts. All here.”

“Punkass,” she says, snatching her veggie chips out of his grip. 

She’s barely able to duck back out of the pantry before she feels a very large, very warm pair of hands sliding down to grab at her butt. For some reason, her ‘around the house’ pants – simple and comfy, just a glorified pair of sweats really – are the ones Jared favors most, and she always forgets that. Until she doesn’t.

She laughs a little against his throat, muffled, presses a little kiss against the stubble and bats him off lest he start to distract her. 

Last time that happened, they’d gotten carried away and went at it right there against the countertop, Jared with his basketball shorts still mostly on, hoisting her up, and her screaming and crying like she was being murdered so good. It wasn’t until _after_ that she remembered that the little window above the sink was still open, soft yellow curtains pulled apart and a light breeze on the air. 

When she snuck a peek out, she'd been horrified to confirm that sweet Mr. Rodriguez with the wife who baked them Christmas cookies last year, and who very much enjoyed reading out on his porch in the afternoons, was sitting in his wicker chair just a few yards away, sheet-white, with a very startled look on his face.

She hadn’t been able to look their elderly neighbors in the eye for weeks.

Jared fucks off easily enough today, the sound of the game console turning on out in the main room echoing back while she puts everything away before starting dinner.

A separate pile of bags sits off to the side, non-kitchen essentials – laundry detergent, the few items she’d texted him about, a new tube of the weird lemon toothpaste Jared favors. And at the very bottom of the last bag, a small surprise: a little bubble-shaped bottle of nail polish she knows isn't in her collection. 

She picks it up, looks down at the pretty pastel shade in the palm of her hand. Tries to picture Jared standing there in the cosmetics aisle, confused by everything; or maybe just seeing a display and grabbing it on impulse, meaningless, just thinking of her.

Jenny used to say, in her head, to herself, that one day Jared would make the perfect boyfriend for someone.

Funny, full of life, smart in that nerdy, sexy sense. Gorgeous on a thousand different levels, and just so _so_ kind. Back when _vitamins and lotion stuff_ meant Vaseline and fruit chewies, not a prescription for Estradiol and some Nair hair removal cream. Back when Jenny was just Jensen and Jared was his best buddy since the seventh grade.

She squeezes her fingers around the little glass bottle, holds it in a tight clutch. _Meaningless_ , except for the way it means everything. 

She was right. Jared is somebody’s perfect boyfriend.

 

-

 

It’s not a vanity. 

A vanity is the thing her grandmother would sit at and apply rouge and white powder, perched on a little floral cushioned seat. Where Nana would spray a layer of Aromatics Elixir so thick the entire room bore the stench for hours. Where the smell might've been foul but never once deterred her young grandson from watching, quietly rapt, pretending to be interested in whatever new train set gift was given on that particular visit, secretly peeking.

This isn't quite that, not exactly. It’s a simple white table with lower shelving, a little lamp, and a magnified mirror in the center. It’s sleek and modern and cost a benjamin at IKEA. 

Jared calls it her primping station. 

“I’m not a poodle,” she says, running a lavender scented makeup wipe across her forehead, down her temples. She’s not really annoyed. With Jared, it’s hard to be.

He’s on the bed, she can see his reflection over her right shoulder, and he’s got his chin propped in his hands, watching. Quietly rapt. He doesn’t pretend to be interested in anything else.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he'll say, later, when she’s fresh faced and squeaky, hair up in a loose topknot, getting ready for bed. 

She might smile and pink up, or tell him he’s one to talk. Or simply say thank you, out loud or otherwise. But she’ll never, ever, shrug off his heartfelt compliments. He’ll never get an _oh yeah right, I look awful_ out of her, not when he's being so sincere. 

Jenny’s worked too hard to feel even fractionally comfortable in her own flesh and bones, to have her outsides align a little better with her insides, has heard enough _handsome_ s in her short life by well meaning friends and family to ever shun a word like beautiful. Especially coming from Jared. She could never do that. 

Not to him. 

Not to her. 

Not to the sweet six year old boy wearing a stripey engineer hat who longed to be dancing in Nana's pink pearls. 

It’s not vanity.

 

-

 

Reality took its time setting in before it pulled free from the shadows. 

_Wait. Isn’t he gay?_ they’d ask in whispers, behind fists and only partially closed Girls Bathroom doors. Nobody ever vandalized his school locker, splashed the word **cocksucker** across the front. But in his head, they may as well have. He knew they thought it.

For a time, he even thought so too, himself.

He’d always been a slightly effeminate boy. He _did_ like guys, he _did_ want to suck cock. But that wasn’t all of it. It wasn’t even most of it. 

 

-

 

It took fifteen years and countless nights of standing in front of the full length mirror in the upstairs bathroom, naked, studying himself and trying to push his ass out, pull his shoulders in, smack his lips like pouty VS catalogue girls. Oh, Gisele. 

It took letting his hair grow out to nearly chin length, tweezing his brows into a prettier shape, slicking on whatever tinted chapstick he thought he could get away with.

It took his best friend moving away during their sophomore year, sneaking the cordless phone into his room late at night and racking up each month’s phone bill with long distance calls just to hear Jared's midnight voice. 

When Jensen stole his first beauty products, a cheap liquid liner marker and a clown-red lip pencil from the dollar store, Jared was halfway across Texas and oblivious to everything he couldn’t see, things not mentioned over the phone. There were a lot of things Jensen didn't say.

It took a long time, but it didn’t actually take that long at all.

 

-

 

Tonight she’s on her back.

When they first started being a _them_ , her usual go-to would be on her elbows and knees, under the covers. Preferably with the lights turned low enough that she could barely see the shape of her own hands clenched into fists against the material of the pillowcase or sheets, all wadded up between her fingers.

It was more or less just for Jared though, the illusion, tiptoeing him into it, no sudden movements. Because Jared – for all of his coy smiles and over the top flirting with anyone from the guy at the drive-thru to the flustered, ancient blue hairs gossiping outside of the downtown church on Sundays – was a good ol' boy through and through.

The girls he took home didn’t have huge cocks between their legs.

Elbows and knees were the best bet. Jenny could work with that.

It lasted for all of a week before Jared realized what she was doing. When he asked if it was because of him and she managed a slight nod, he sounded almost _pissed_ , and he hadn’t even said a word. 

He’d promptly flipped her over and fucked her hard and good and sweet, holding her hips and dripping little spatters of sweat down onto her belly, telling her how perfect she was, how god damned perfect, and at the very end, before he came, he jerked her off so good she cried; and later, he licked his fingers. Then her tears.

Tonight she’s on her back, laying on the sofa in the living room, and Jared’s holding her legs open, staring down at the spot where he’s made room for himself, watching the long, long length of him go in deeper, slippery, watching wide-eyed with virgin-like fascination. 

She tries wiggling around a bit, shimmying her hips to get him to really go for it, but when he gets in his moods, he can’t be fucked with. Jared loves looking, looking and touching and exploring. She lets him. She likes it too. It isn't exactly a chore. 

“Fuck,” he says, dragging a thumb all the way from the taut, filled rim of her ass up to her balls, holding them in a gentle hand, warm when he rubs at them a little. “So _hot_. I can’t even believe.”

It’s not quite a fully formed thought but she knows what he means. He leans up to lick into her mouth, desperate, wet words mumbled against her lips. Sometimes she can’t believe it either.

 

-

 

“We should make a pact,” Jared said, some time during senior year. He was always coming up with interesting things like that. 

“Will this require blood and chanting?” Jensen said, curled up in bed, phone pressed to his cheek. Jared was five hundred miles away and Jensen was already shaving his legs.

“Fuck off, I’m serious. Like one of those ‘if I’m still single by the time I’m blah blah and you’re still single by blah blah’, something like—“

Jensen snorted. “What the fuck is this? You asking me to marry you?”

Ignoring that completely, Jared’s voice came through the line, “Just like, maybe if we’re, say, 20 or something and just totally useless heroin addicts lurking under the expressway and eating spoiled McDonald’s trash, shitting our pants and living the dream—“

“Race ya there.”

“—maybe we oughta move in together.”

“Under the bridge?”

“Right,” said Jared, sunnily. “Under the bridge.”

Jensen had laughed and laughed and said he was moving out if Jared ever started to smell like pee.

 

-

 

Jared can be embarrassing when it comes to sex.

He doesn’t use any sort of creepy porn dialogue, or have any early ejaculation problems – except for that one time, in the early days, when he got so excited from rubbing up against her ass that he’d lost it in his shorts, stammering and red at the ears. She didn’t tease him, and he took it with good grace, but she’d been over the moon. Really fucking floating the stars that time, just the fact that he _wanted_ her that much.

But no, that’s not his issue.

It’s just, it’s all so new to him. To both of them. And Jared always wants to test theories and survey changes, he’s been like that since he was little. Evolution interests him and when he’s interested, he needs to know everything about his subject – whether it be his first ant farm when he was 10 or the baby peach tree they planted out in the backyard last spring.

He doesn’t usually “study” those things with his dick in his hand, though, so it’s hard for Jenny to feel like a science project, even if she says it to get him all riled up. The sex is _incredible_ when he’s bitchy.

The first couple of weeks on HRT, nothing really happened. No noticeable outer changes anyway. She’d felt a little softer inside, somehow, fragile and stupidly emotional over dumb things, like forgetting to open the windows when she tried out a new online recipe and left the whole house smelling like pickles for the rest of the evening. 

Towards the end of the month though, she noticed her nipples felt – tender, kind of swollen, like there’d been a little too much friction, raw after a long night with her insatiable boyfriend. 

But that hadn’t been it. It lasted too long, grew stronger. And Jared, of course, was right there to help soothe the sore spots, all soft lips, bathing presses of tongue, mouthing at her until she'd forgotten all about the little aches. _Breasts,_ she'd thought, silent and giddy, even if there wasn't anything really there. Yet.

Another month tacked on, when her calves and thighs were visibly larger and she’d gained twenty pounds, all the weight going to various target areas on her body and none of the usuals. No paunchy beer gut or turkey wattles like the older males in her family, it was all going below the waist or above the ribs.

The day she’d gone out for a jog, only realizing halfway-through that her pec muscles had damn near liquefied what felt like overnight and were _jiggling_ , was also the day she arrived back home, panting and sweaty, tank top soaked through, to find Jared standing in the foyer, just home from work, and staring at her chest like he’d lost his mind.

In the end, he had.

He’d dropped the mail he’d been sifting through, bills and junk scattering, and they nearly burned a hole through the floor right there.

 

-

 

Her favorite pair of panties, red lace with little ruffles near the top, go missing. 

She looks everywhere, tries to think back. The last time she wore them, Jared kept babbling about her ass and begged her to keep them on. He pulled the material out of the way and slipped inside, saying things, oh all sorts of outrageous, sentimental things he'd be embarrassed about later when he came back to life. But that was the last time she'd seen them. 

She finds them a week later.

She strips the bed to do a load of wash and a flash of red material comes tumbling out from Jared's pillowcase. Hidden. 

 

-

 

“The younger the person, the stronger the hormones will take hold. The effects will be greater, more substantial,” a specialist had said, encouraging; she remembers that bit word for word.

In some aspects, she had it good right from the start. Long, sweepy lashes; full lips; a shock of green eyes and a cute nose that fit her face. She didn’t even mind the little bump. It was easier to go stealth just using what she was born with, especially once her hair passed up shoulder length, smooth and strawberry blonde with sensible layers. 

In others, it was anything but.

Before hormones, her shoulders were massive. She’d try on clothes and feel like a linebacker, all huge and obvious. Just trying to be herself. She liked her height for the most part, generally ( _"I'm so fucking lucky, are you kidding? You're like a supermodel. But better,"_ Jared liked to gush), but combined with a deep, somber voice it was almost cruel.

Jared though, softhearted, gigantic Jared – it's just one more thing she adores about him. He dwarfs her, has since forever, and she’s contented by that; safe. They look good together. Even when they’d walk through the halls at school, on the surface layer just two teenage boys rushing to get to gym class, she’d see their reflection in classroom windows and think, _that’s good_.

She gets her trachea shaved down and goes through voice training. Her shoulders and biceps shrink, her jawline gets softer, and steady electrolysis appointments keep her face delicate and fuzz free. She buys her first bra at Target, on a whim, just to see if something fits. 

It's yellow and soft cotton, a simple t-shirt bra and to anyone else, nothing noteworthy. It's not even all that sexy. She fills out an A cup and stares at her frame, at her long legs, her slim neck, her hard earned rack. Jenny Ackles uses the Women's fitting room for the first time in her life and nobody blinks. 

_Supermodel_ , she can hear a Jared-voice saying through a sweet fog, and her eyes go hot and glassy in the mirror. Her smiles never usually hurt like this. 

That’s so good. 

 

-

 

“I want you to come in my mouth,” Jared says one night, soft, like he’s telling a secret. It might be a confession though. He’s never asked for it before. 

Jenny blows out a ragged breath through her nose and resolutely doesn’t answer him. She can’t. Jenny can’t talk at all. It’s too hot, too pretty a picture, and she’s so fucking in love with him that he can bring her to her knees and destroy her, armed with nothing but a shy, dimpled smile. Scary.

Jared’s hand crawls up past her bellybutton, cups one smooth breast, and her thighs fall wider to give him more room. 

 

-

 

One of Jared’s coveted bedtime rituals, aside from coming up with different ways to get each other off before they have to set the alarm, is story time. 

He usually tells some wild tale about lawn gnomes coming to life and smuggling peaches off their tree or how he thinks the two of them used to be circus performers in a past life (“I was a lion. You cracked my whip.” “You’re an idiot.”) or just something cool that happened in their years apart that he wishes Jenny had been there to see.

Tonight, it’s different. 

“I had a friend once, you know,” he says. “I know, right? Me. Hard as that is to believe. He was kinda, he was a cool dude. Liked the same music as me, could hold a decent conversation, I mean, he was a total shorty but hey, ya win some.”

Jenny scoffs, already seeing where this is going.

“Don’t interrupt, sweetie. That’s rude.”

She digs her chin into his armpit but lets him continue. 

He does. And she’s silent the entire time, listening, remembering everything exactly as he’s telling it, only from the opposite side, and without certain details and insider knowledge. When he's nearing the end of his tale, she starts to feel like someone’s delivered a blow to the back of her head. Harsh and swift and she's a mess. 

Because Jared’s version of their shared memories, all the things she’d never known, comes with insecure, longing looks and a multi-page list of times he’d tried to come clean but got too nervous and chickened out. His first crush.

“What ever happened to him?” Jenny asks, after a bit, when she thinks her voice will back her up and not choke. She closes her eyes and goes still, presses her ear to the shell of his ribs and listens. She strains to hear more than the rush of the sea.

“Well, I had to move. And then he sort of had to go away for a while too. But I didn't get to stay sad for too long because guess what? And this is the best part. You’re gonna love this.”

She makes a little noise, a verbal nod.

“My friend came back to me,” Jared says. He sounds so happy. He squeezes Jenny’s shoulder and the grip reaches all the way to the swelled knot of her heart. "Heroin addicts."

 

-

 

After work one afternoon she stops by the mall to restock on makeup necessities. Running low on concealer and bronzer, could do with a new lipgloss too, maybe.

She’s in and out quickly, a decently sized bag full of new stuff she can’t wait to get home and play with and on the way out, one of the perfume counter ladies stops her just to tell her that she loves her hair. _Such a pretty girl._ No recognition.

Jenny grins, toys with a strand, thanks her profusely, and distinctly recalls a time when she’d been in before, had that same lady ring her up, and clearest of all, the red hot humiliation that came with her little bag being handed over and the _here you are, sir, have a lovely day_ that followed. Her grin lasts the entire ride home.

She parks her car, walks inside, and leaves a sloppy ring of cherry lipgloss on her stunned and gasping boyfriend's cock, just because she can.

 

-

 

_Check the hands_. That's what some guys say. Chuckling with their office pals over guzzled bar beer and MMA fights, caustic jabs because they don't know. They'll never get it. _Can’t change those knuckles._

She looks down at her own, at her thinned fingers and jutting wrist bones, takes inventory on what another perspective might see.

Her nails are baby pink, a golden-peach iridescence to them in different tilts of light, glossy and delicately feminine. Jared had walked in when she was painting her toes with the same shade, Pink Dragonfly the little label on the bottom said. He'd picked a gorgeous color that day at the supermarket.

Her hands. Maybe a bit larger, less diminutive than most. And that's okay. She’s got pretty nails and a light dusting of freckles and places on her palms that have been kissed by a boy who used to skateboard over to her childhood home every night until the day he left town, and whatever it is that her hands say about her—

—she hopes they tell a whole story.

**Author's Note:**

> I loved this prompt the second I saw it, though I fear I ultimately did not do it justice (even aside from initially mixing up the roles of the Js, with the OP being kind enough to let me continue on) as there were many topics I wanted to address, or expound on those within. It feels a bit paltry now, re-reading, but it was my every intention to portray both characters as people rather than their genders (or sexualities), and somewhere along the way this tiptoed over into basic human rights and lacked any real kink. On a kink meme. 
> 
> Gorgeous imagery that I kept handy to inspire me along the way was [this](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/sillie82/1350781/64862/64862_600.jpg) by [sillie82](http://sillie82.livejournal.com/300181.html) and [this](http://i1193.photobucket.com/albums/aa347/homopink/9772727_zps0fa5c021.jpg), which I believe belongs to [source](http://sangelus.tumblr.com/).


End file.
